


White Ibis

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming, THAT'S IT THAT'S WHAT IT IS, zoo au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. they work at a zoo. it's all very cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Ibis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colormejaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colormejaded/gifts).



> big thanks to my beta and to colormejaded for the wonderful prompts! I had a hard time choosing which to do. hope you like this!! 
> 
> please remember that this is all fake and please don't show it to anyone. any remaining mistakes in this are mine.

The thing is that Louis really hates birds. 

Well, all right, he doesn’t _hate_ them. He wouldn’t shoot one out of the sky to pluck out its feathers and roast it or anything. He wouldn’t go out of his way to do one harm. He just...doesn’t trust them. They’ve got beady eyes and sharp beaks and they sit on power lines and stare, or dive-bomb some poor tourist for a handful of chips. Louis’ even met some that sit in cages and squawk at whoever happens to pass. Absolutely nothing about birds is what Louis enjoys in an animal, so he tries his best to steer clear of them. 

Which is, of course, why it’s exactly his luck that he’s ended up in the aviary by accident, getting stared down by a white bird with a very long, sharp-looking beak. Right. He thinks he remembers something about birds being more attracted to movement than not, so he’ll just stay very, very still as he backs away. Except right as he takes a step, the bird looks up at him, zeroing in on Louis with his beady black eyes, and Louis’ heart seizes up in his chest. 

“Nice birdy,” Louis says in his sweetest, quietest voice as the bird steps closer to him. “I won’t hurt you.” The bird spreads its wings. If it flies forward, it’ll fly straight into Louis. Shit. He moves to step away slowly again, but his leg hits something -- a branch, maybe? a rock? He isn’t sure, and he doesn’t want to risk looking down -- and he wobbles, arms flailing a bit.

“Hey!” someone shouts from behind him, startling him, and he topples into the tall grass as the bird flits away. 

“Ow,” Louis says, sighing. 

“Are you alright?” It’s the same voice from before, only closer this time. Louis opens an eye and then immediately closes it again, groaning loudly.

Of course the only person to notice Louis’ embarrassing fit of embarrassing...ness is a ridiculously fit bloke. He’s tall -- though truthfully, Louis can’t tell if that’s because he’s on the ground and the other guy isn’t -- with dark, curly hair and a mouth that’s twisted into a smile. Or was, when Louis got his glance.

“I hate birds.”

“I think you may be in the wrong place, then,” the guy says, not unkindly, but the laugh in his voice is obvious. 

“Cheeky.” Louis sits up, opening his eyes to find the guy surprisingly close. “I really am okay, you know.” 

The guy immediately pulls back, his cheeks flushing a delightful pink. This will be fun. “Of course,” curly boy says, clearing his throat. “So, why are you here, then?” 

Louis raises an eyebrow. He can see the insignia on the bloke’s shirt, white block letters that read: MANCHESTER ZOO with a weird sort of archway bordering it. Louis hopes he won’t have to wear one of those. “If that’s your boss voice, it’s a bit crap, mate.” He stands, brushing off his trousers and then offering a hand. “I’m Louis Tomlinson, Paul’s new...assistant or whatever. Took a wrong turn to the office, apparently.” 

“Well, we know it wasn’t your love of winged animals that brought you here,” the guy says, his eyes practically sparkling, which isn’t fair. Eyes aren’t actually supposed to _do_ that. 

“Right,” Louis nods, voice a bit hoarse. 

“Harry Styles.” He sticks out a large hand for Louis to shake -- which Louis does, barely managing to contain a whimper at the feel of it against his own. 

“What’s a boy with a name like that doing in a place like this?” 

Harry laughs and the sound of it makes Louis feel pleasantly warm, like stepping into the sun after being cooped up all day.

“I manage the aviary.” 

Louis raises an eyebrow, impressed. Harry can’t be any older than Louis. “All by yourself?” 

Harry nods, grinning proudly. “Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound. 

“Well, aren’t you just an impressive little shit,” Louis says, reaching out to pinch Harry’s cheek. Harry laughs, ducking his head out of the way and swatting at Louis’ hand. 

“If I am, then you are too,” he says, still smiling. “Working with Paul, yeah? He rarely takes on assistants. They never stay very long, either.” 

Louis shrugs. “Nah, he’s just doing me a favor. The place I was working closed and none of the other places I applied called me back. I was a bit desperate, honestly.” 

“Where was that, then? The place you used to work.” 

“The Hideaway,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “It was pretty small. Too small, I suppose.”

“Still, same area, at least,” Harry says, shrugging. “Still live in Manchester, yeah?”

Louis nods. “Until Paul fires me, I suppose, and I’m forced to move where someone’ll take me.” 

Harry looks at him carefully, like he’s trying to decide something. “I’m sure you’ll be great at it,” he says finally, smiling again. “Anyway, I should get back to work.” 

“Yeah, I should try to find the office sometime before lunch,” Louis snorts. “D’you have a map or something?” 

“I can take you,” Harry says jerking his head in a direction that Louis can only assume leads to the offices. “It’s not far.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Louis goes easily enough and they fall into silence as they walk toward a path that Louis vaguely recognizes from earlier. 

“D’you know anything about birds, then?” Harry asks, glancing over at Louis, who shrugs.

“Eh, not really. My mum made me watch _The Birds_ with her once when I was little. Put me off them a bit. Can hardly eat chicken, really.” 

“That’s a tragedy. How d’you get your protein?” 

Louis blinks. Is that a joke? He’s pretty sure that was a joke, but he can really only tell from the smug grin on Harry’s face. “That was terrible.” 

Harry only shrugs. “So was yours.” 

“Fair enough,” Louis says. They fall into silence again as they keep walking toward the office. It’s not bad, though. It isn’t awkward or uncomfortable, which Louis appreciates. There’s nothing worse than an awkward silence. 

“Here we are,” Harry says, gesturing down the path to a group of buildings just visible behind some nicely kept hedges. “Do you need me to show you which one’s Paul’s?” 

Louis shrugs. “Normally I’d say I’d be alright, but I did nearly get attacked by a crane earlier, so…” 

“Steve,” Harry says with a laugh. Louis frowns at him. “His name’s Steve, and he’s not a crane. He’s a White Ibis.” 

“Oh.” 

Harry grins. “D’you want to know the difference?” 

“Not even a little bit,” Louis says, just as the door to one of the buildings opens and a large man steps out, walking toward where Louis’ stopped on the pathway next to Harry. 

“Took you long enough, Tomlinson,” Paul says, a large hand clapping him on the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Nice to see you too,” Louis wheezes, patting him on the shoulder awkwardly until he lets go. It’s not that he doesn’t like Paul -- quite the contrary, actually. He’s always been one of Louis’ favorite family friends, even if he did have a habit of showing up to parties smelling like various animals. He doesn’t smell like animals now, though, which gives Louis hope for himself. 

“See you met Harry already, good lad,” Paul says, letting him go and clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry doesn’t even flinch, Louis notes bitterly. He just smiles and shrugs Paul’s hand off like it’s nothing. 

“He saved me, actually,” Louis says, clearing his throat. Paul’s brow furrows, and he looks between the two of them. 

“Steve nearly attacked him,” Harry offers, and Paul’s expression smooths out as he nods. 

“Steve’s a tricky one.” Paul sounds a bit like he’s got experience in handling deranged ibises -- ibisii? Louis doesn’t know -- and Louis can’t help but wonder why they keep a bird like that around. “He gets territorial. Can’t imagine he liked the look of you, Louis,” Paul finishes with a guffaw and another, harder, slap to his shoulder, which sends him staggering forward a few steps. Ow. 

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis says, rubbing his shoulder. “Do we do actual work around here or is it all chatting about insane birds?” 

“Got some paperwork for you to sign, if you’ll come into the office. Your tour’s after, then lunch. Sound good?” 

Louis nods, waving to Harry as he backs away down the path. It looks a bit as if he’s trying to sneak away, but Louis knows they’ll see each other again soon. The zoo can’t be that big, surely.

\---

Louis manages to sit still for the ten minutes it takes Paul to explain his job and what he expects of Louis, which is really a feat in itself. Working at the theatre had been great; save for rehearsals, he never had to sit or stand still for long periods of time, since there was always something that needed to be done or a role that needed filling. But Paul seems to know Louis well enough to keep it brief. He’s also probably very busy, Louis supposes, considering how he’s just hired an assistant in the first place. 

Paul pushes a stack of forms toward Louis and sets his pen on top of them. Truth be told, Louis’ a bit nervous about all of this. As chaotic as working in a theatre can be, it’s still not the same as being around actual animals, and Louis doesn’t have any experience in that, his experience with his little sisters notwithstanding. It doesn’t seem like he’ll be doing much actual work with them, except when some of the more audience-friendly ones get brought out for events. But still. This just isn’t where he thought he’d end up, really. 

“You know this is most likely temporary, right?” he asks as he picks up the pen to sign by the little pink arrow sticker. 

“You’ve mentioned,” Paul says, rolling his eyes. “Look, I get it, it’s not where you thought you’d be --” That’s a bit creepy, really. Is Louis that obvious? “-- but just give it a chance, yeah? It’s not so bad.” 

Louis lets out a breath and then nods. Paul’s right. It’s not like he has any other options at the moment, and he likes being in charge of things, even if it’s just volunteers or making sure the caterer’s set up in the correct place. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, and signs on the line. 

\---

Paul takes him on a tour after that, starting with the offices and leading toward the aviary. 

“I’ve been here,” Louis says, eyes scanning around, surprised to actually see people here this early. Well, no, it’s almost noon, so maybe that makes sense. Louis wouldn’t know; he’s never really made it a point to visit a zoo. 

He notices a group of people a little ways off, all crowded together in a semicircle and there are too many of them to be just one family or something. He hears them gasp, and then start to applaud. 

He nudges Paul, who’s muttering to himself about the state of some hedges to their left. Odd bloke. He points to the group once he’s got Paul’s attention. “What’s going on over there?” 

Paul frowns, checks his watch and then nods, expression smoothing out. “Harry’ll be doing his feeding. People go mad for it. No idea why. Just a bloke feeding birds.” 

Louis looks back over, chewing his lip for a moment. On one hand, this place is temporary, and Louis knows that. He insists on it, even, so he doesn’t want to get too attached to a place that he’ll just have to leave. But on the other hand, he’s fairly certain he couldn’t stay away from Harry if he tried. So why try? 

He takes off down the path toward the group, trusting Paul will get it and follow. Or keep muttering about the hedges. Either way, Louis’ sure they’ll find their way back to each other eventually. He makes it to the group, pushing through to the front so he can see. 

Harry’s standing a few metres away at the edge of a pond, holding a large bucket of what Louis assumes is fish. He’s not actually all that concerned with the fish, really, because Harry’s dressed in a pair of those ridiculous waders, like wellies that turn into rubber trousers and stop at his waist, held up by straps over his shoulders. He’s shucked his uniform shirt, apparently, because all he’s wearing under the rubber overalls is a white v-neck, the fabric so thin that Louis can see the way the muscles in Harry’s back dip and curve into his spine. 

Just a bloke feeding some birds indeed. _Fuck._

Harry moves, muscles working under his shirt as he reaches into the bucket and pulls out a handful of fish -- gloved, thankfully -- and tosses them into the pond. Louis stands, transfixed and, bafflingly, unterrified as different birds start to swarm, swooping into the water to catch the fish. Harry throws handful after handful until the bucket’s empty, apparently, and he overturns it in the water before turning around, a grin spreading like sunlight on his face. Louis’ breath catches in his chest, but that could be from the way someone’s just shoved him in the side.

The group starts to applaud and Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling up and making Louis’ chest feel much too tight all of a sudden. This is -- Christ, this isn’t what he expected when he took this job, but he can’t say it’s an entirely bad thing. 

“Good show you put on there,” he says to Harry when the group’s dissipated but Paul’s still off muttering about shrubbery. 

Harry smiles at him, a flash of teeth, and rests his empty bucket against his hip, cocking the other one a bit. A flirting stance, if Louis’ ever seen one. It’s not weird, all right? It used to be his job to understand body language. Whatever. 

“Glad you liked it,” he responds, looking absolutely ridiculous in his waders and gloves. Louis can’t remember the last time he spoke to someone who wasn’t overly concerned with looking their best at all times or completely _un_ concerned and choosing the ‘slob chic’ look. Louis’ known him less than a day, but already he can tell that Harry has the sort of confidence and self-assuredness that most people spend their whole lives faking. It’s awful and brilliant and Harry’s wearing _rubber overalls_ , for Christ’s sake. Louis really needs to get a grip. Fast. 

“Fancy giving me a tour, then?” 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Thought Paul was doing that.” 

“He was, but,” Louis shrugs, turning a bit toward where he left Paul up the path, “he got distracted by like, hedges or summat.” 

Harry barks out a laugh, and Louis immediately decides he needs to make Harry make that sound as much as possible. “Sounds like Paul,” he says, nodding his head. “Yeah, I can give you the tour. Just let me change back, ok?” 

“Sure,” Louis says easily, giving him a smile. “Remember to wash your hands. Don’t fancy the smell of fish.” 

“Is there any animal you _do_ like?” From anyone else, it might sound harsh, but Harry’s eyes sort of sparkle with laughter -- which, Louis didn’t even know eyes could actually do that, honestly -- and Louis’ already got a bit of a soft spot for him anyway. 

“Guess we’ll have to look at all of them and see,” he says, smirking at the way Harry’s smile widens. 

“Yeah, wait here,” Harry trips a bit over his boots as he backs away, but he recovers well enough, and Louis can’t think anything except about how cute he is. “Back in a jiff.” 

He runs off and Paul finally catches up to him. 

“Ready to go?” 

Louis raises an eyebrow that clearly means _you’re the one who got stuck looking at shrubs_. Paul pretends like he doesn’t know, but he knows. Louis’ eyebrows are very understandable. 

“Waiting on Harry, actually,” Louis says, glancing away from Paul and over toward the pond. Without Harry, he’s actually beginning to get uneasy again, especially since most of the birds seem to be waiting at the edge of the pond, like Harry’ll come back with seconds. Maybe he should tell Harry to stay and keep feeding. He wouldn’t want to disappoint any animal that could potentially peck out his eyes. Louis’ rather fond of his eyes, all things considered. 

“So am I,” Harry says from behind him, making him jump and yelp a bit. It doesn’t register that Harry’s answered his inner monologue -- meaning he must’ve been muttering under his breath, which is one of his most annoying habits -- until a beat too late, so mostly he just stands there, looking at Harry as if he’s the one with a great bloody beak. 

“We going, lads?” Paul claps a hand on each of their shoulders. Louis winces. 

“Lead the way.” 

\---

The rest of the zoo seems pretty typical, at least as far as Louis’ knowledge of zoos goes. There’s the aviary, a reptile room, a sort of mini-aquarium loaded with fish and other creatures that live in water, a polar area with bears and penguins, and a large section that’s supposed to be African or something, apparently, with all the big cats and giraffes and elephants. 

They don’t spend much time really looking at the animals -- though Louis will have to come back and watch the polar bears, seriously, they’re so interesting and huge -- but Paul gives him the rundown of each of the staff he’ll be interacting with the most. Louis promptly forgets the names of everyone he meets, except for two of the guys who work in the big cat section: a blond Irishman and a tall, sort of beefy bloke with a fauxhawk. He looks a bit like young David Beckham, which is both confusing and infuriating to Louis, and the fact that the bloke, Liam, is polite and well-mannered only makes it worse. Niall, the blond, seems like a riot, though. Louis will make sure to see them whenever he can, because knowing him, he’ll get bored of Paul’s office in less than a week, and he’s no good when he’s bored. 

Paul takes him to the area that’s reserved for their special events. It’s closed to the public most days, obviously, which Louis is thankful for. It’s mid-sized and could definitely fit a nice amount of people. There’s a stage at one end, a small thing that probably couldn’t hold more than five people at once, and a simple sound hook up in a converted utility closet of an adjacent building. There are trees that provide a lot of good shade, but there’s still enough room to put up a tent for rain. Louis likes it. He can work with this. It’s not the Globe, but he’ll manage. 

He’ll have to. 

\---

Louis is just sending the last of his e-mails to his volunteers for the morning when there’s a knock on the door. It’s probably someone looking for Paul, since it’s Paul’s office, but he’s already gone off to lunch and to run some errands. Louis thinks he heard something about better fairy lights for the trees, but he’s not sure. He’d had his headphones in, at the time. 

Now, though, the music’s just blasting over the speakers. Not loud enough to annoy anyone else in the offices, mind, and obviously not loud enough that he can’t hear a knock on the door. The Fray ought to be enjoyed at a respectable volume, is all.

“Come in!” he yells as he pauses his song. 

“Hiiiii,” a familiar voice says from the doorway as it opens. Harry steps in, wearing his usual khaki shorts and dark green uniform shirt. His curls are held back by a scarf today, though it’s a bit futile, since they’re still sticking up everywhere. God, but he’s cute. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Louis says, a bit softer than he means to. He clears his throat immediately afterward, ignoring the insufferably pleased look on Harry’s face. 

“Wanted to see if you’d come eat lunch with me and the lads,” Harry says, stepping all the way into the office and leaning back against the door, closing it. The room feels a little small, which is ridiculous, because Louis’ been stuck in much smaller spaces with unbearably attractive men, so this should be nothing, really.

Louis’ thought about it a lot in the two weeks since he’s started here, is the thing. He’s thought about what he’d do if he and Harry were trapped in Paul’s office together, or in the utility closet next to the special events pavillion or in the aviary’s changing rooms or just, anywhere. He’s thought about how it might feel to suck a mark into the pale, smooth column of Harry’s throat or how Harry’s hands might feel on his skin. But he’s just gotten this job, see, and he really wouldn’t want to ruin it for himself by assuming something about Harry’s sexuality or starting something with him and inevitably fucking it up. He needs this job more than he needs to get laid, unfortunately. 

Still, Louis can’t say with complete certainty that if Harry kissed him, he wouldn’t kiss back. 

“‘Course I would,” Louis says, forcing out a laugh. “Let me send this and we can go, alright?” 

Harry nods and entertains himself by looking around the office, eyes trailing over the various framed photos and certificates that Paul’s got hung up. 

One in particular seems to catch his eye, and Louis watches him move closer to examine it while he waits for his Word documents to save and the programs to shut down before putting the computer to sleep. 

“Is this you?” Harry’s voice is soft, and Louis can hear the smile in it before Harry even turns to look at him, pointing at a photo Louis is all too familiar with. 

It’s him and Paul years and years ago, when Paul was still a trainer and Louis couldn’t have been more than 18. He’s got bright red trousers on in the photo, his hair’s in a dreadful sort of bowl cut, and he’s sitting atop an elephant with Paul standing next to him, an arm curled around the elephant’s trunk. Gladys, she’d been called. That was a good day. 

“It is, yeah,” Louis says, letting himself smile at the memory. “Almost ten years ago, now.” 

“What?” 

Louis shrugs, counts in his head. “Yeah, yeah. Must be about eight, really. Can’t have been more than eighteen there.” 

Harry blinks at him, stares for a moment, and then looks back to the photo. 

“Wow,” he says, voice still soft in a way that makes Louis’ skin itch with agitation. 

“Still have those trousers somewhere, probably,” he says, just to say something. Harry laughs, finally turning away from the photo and toward Louis, who’s finally stood and grabbed his lunch from the desk. 

“You ought to wear them one day.” 

Louis raises an eyebrow, gives Harry a once-over, and smirks when he flushes pink. “In your dreams, Styles,” he says, making for the door, and Harry doesn’t disagree. 

\---

Liam and Niall have already sat themselves at one of the picnic tables next to the offices by the time Louis and Harry join them. 

“About bloody time, mate,” Niall says, and Louis rolls his eyes, plopping down across from him and opening his lunch bag. He’s never actually made his own lunch before now, and he’s not very good at the whole “balanced diet” thing, so most days his meal is a sandwich, some crisps, and maybe a few biscuits, if he doesn’t eat them on his tube commute. 

Today he’s got some roast beef with mustard and cheese on wheat. It’s not the best thing he’s ever eaten, but it’s not the worst. Really, he’s just glad to have anything at all. 

“D’you ever eat any veg?” Harry asks, nudging him with his elbow. 

“Sure,” Louis says, unwrapping his food from the napkins he used in lieu of those baggies. “When I have a salad or summat.” 

“Any fruit?” 

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Why’re you so interested in what I eat?” 

“Well, Louis,” Harry starts, mouth already curling into a smirk and Louis is helpless to stop his own from mirroring it, “your body is important, yeah? I just think we ought to treat it right--”

“Oh god,” Liam groans, dropping his head on the table, “You’ve got him started on his healthy spiel, Louis. We’ll never hear the end of it now.” 

“Better than listening to you natter on about Zayn,” Niall says through a mouthful of his own sandwich. 

“Wait, who’s Zayn,” Louis feels a bit lost. He may have already met Zayn. “Did I meet him already?”

“Nah, you’d remember if you’d met him,” Harry says, unphased about his health nut rant being cut off. It must happen a lot. “He’s like --” He motions to his own face in a vague sort of way, makes an odd slashing movement along his cheekbones, and puckers up his lips. Niall bursts out laughing, bits of bread spraying everywhere. 

“That’s it, that’s exactly him,” Niall says, making a face of his own. 

Liam pouts at them both. “Guys, stop, seriously,” he says, pushing at Niall’s shoulder. “C’mon, he’s lovely, there’s no need to --” 

“Oh we know he’s lovely, that’s the whole point, innit, Leemo?” Niall grins at him. Liam frowns. Louis is still lost. 

“Li’s had a crush on Zayn for, what, like, five years now, Ni?” Harry says with a bit of a laugh, making Niall snort. 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Liam protests, “Maybe like, two, tops--” 

“So you do have a crush on him, then,” Louis interjects, pointing a finger at Liam’s nose so he goes cross-eyed trying to look at it. 

“I -- I mean, yes, probably,” Liam says, like he’s surprised someone’s actually asked him outright. Louis can work with that. 

“Two years is two years too long, Liam,” Louis says seriously, trying not to smile at the way Niall’s started laughing again. “How about we see if I can’t help speed things up a bit, yeah?” 

“But you don’t even know him,” Liam says, incredulous and looking slightly terrified. Louis wishes he could take a photo and set it as his mobile background. 

“I will soon enough,” he says, waving a hand. Liam’s head drops down to the table and he swears, making Louis laugh. 

“You’re a bit evil, aren’t you,” Harry murmurs in his ear, and Louis has to fight not to freeze up at the proximity. Really. Speaking of crushes. Louis’ own is very inconvenient. 

“I try, Harry, I try.” 

\--- 

As it turns out, Louis meets Zayn the next day, when Paul sends him off on an errand to the gift shop. 

He says he needs one of the fancy info books they sell about the zoo each year, which has all the updated information about the exhibits and staff and donors. Louis _told_ Paul there was probably an electronic version that he could access on the website, but Paul had just rolled his eyes and said that Louis needed the exercise anyway. 

Which obviously means Louis stopped to stare at his arse in every reflective surface on his way to the gift shop. It’s a good arse, he knows, but now he’s all worried it’s getting flabby. 

“You haven’t got anything on your trousers, if that’s what you’re doing, mate,” a voice says from beside him. Louis blinks in surprise, eyes glancing away from his bum and searching for the reflection of whoever’s talking to him, but there’s no one. Right. That’s not creepy. 

“Thanks,” Louis says, actually turning to look this time. He falters a bit when he realizes the voice belongs to the most beautiful bloke he’s ever seen in real life. His cheekbones could cut glass, probably. He reminds Louis of a vampire, all things considered. 

“You’re not a vampire, are you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.Confusion flashes across the bloke’s face, but then he laughs, sticking out a hand. 

“Nah, I’m Zayn,” he says, and _oh._ Louis gets it now. Liam’s obsession and Niall’s determination to constantly embarrass him about it. 

“I’m Louis,” he answers, shaking Zayn’s hand. “I’m not sure I believe you about the vampire thing, though. I mean, that’s exactly what a vampire would say.” 

“I dunno, mate, s’pretty sunny out here,” Zayn says with a shrug, but Louis’ not fooled. 

“You could have one of those ring things that keeps you from burning up. You’ve got tricks, I’m sure.” 

Zayn laughs, tongue pressing up behind his teeth and his eyes sparlking. Louis feels a little faint. Is everyone employed at this zoo swoon-worthy? Christ. 

“You work here? Or visiting?” 

“I work here, as of two weeks ago,” Louis says. “Paul’s assistant.” 

“Paul’s a good man,” Zayn says with a nod, like he’s giving Louis some sort of approval. Louis is oddly relieved to have it. “He send you on an errand?” 

“Yeah, in here,” Louis gestures to the gift shop. He looks at it again, frowning, and turns back to Zayn. 

“How many people d’you reckon saw me checking out my own arse?”

Zayn laughs again, shaking his head. “Probably about the same amount who were checking out your arse themselves,” he says, and yes, that’s all right. Louis is inclined to like people with an appreciation for his bum, as long as it doesn’t get too creepy. 

“Well, that’s alright then, I suppose,” he shrugs, and walks into the gift shop. Zayn follows him in. 

As they wander around the gift shop looking for the book Paul needs, Louis learns that Zayn’s in charge of the exhibits and that he went to university for arts management, and would rather be the curator of an actual art museum, but the zoo’s not a bad stepping stone. 

“S’alright,” Zayn says, picking a book up off the shelf and thumbing through it. It’s obviously for a child -- bright colors and big print over photos of animals and their various habitats. “Not like it’s a bad job, y’know? Just get tired of smelling like nature n’ stuff.” 

Louis leans over and inhales deeply at Zayn’s neck. “You smell more like Gucci than anything else, mate,” he says, shrugging. Zayn gives him a long look. 

“You’re weird,” he seems to decide, putting the book back. “But I like it. How’d you end up here?” 

Louis shrugs again, turning his attention back to the shelves of reading material. That damn program has to be in here somewhere. Louis refuses to ask for help. “Place I was working closed with basically no notice. Needed something quick, Paul’s a family friend.” 

“Lucky,” Zayn says, just as Louis spots the booklet they need. He pulls it off the shelf and turns to Zayn, grinning. 

“Yeah, lucky,” he says, and Zayn laughs. 

\---

The rest of the month goes quickly, Louis’ days filled with answering phones and running errands with Paul. They put on a few events, low-key things mainly for children, during which Louis learns that he absolutely hates volunteers. 

“Good for nothing, lazy-arse teenagers,” he mutters under his breath, tearing the staples out of activity packets and putting them in a pile. They’d been stapled in the wrong order. Louis is seething. “It’s not as if they’re not _numbered_ \--” 

“You alright, mate?” Harry’s voice comes from behind him, making Louis’ spine go straight. 

“Fine,” he sighs, waving a hand without turning to look at Harry. He’ll come closer anyway, Louis knows. “Some idiot volunteer stapled the packets the wrong way, so I’ve got to fix them.” 

“I see,” Harry says, reaching around Louis’ shoulder to pick up a stack of still unorganized, but unstapled papers. Harry smells like something sort of citrusy fresh, like some posh cologne or body wash or aftershave that’s been muted by his own boyish scent. It makes Louis want to turn his head, nuzzle into Harry’s neck, and just breathe him in. That’s a dangerous road, all things considered, so it’s good that Harry pulls away just as quickly as he leaned in, leaving Louis feeling dizzy. 

Louis watches as Harry plops down in the seat next to him and begins making piles, organizing all the sheets into stacks and laying them out in the correct order. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Louis says, his throat a bit tight. 

Harry shrugs. “I don’t mind. S’peaceful. Like, mindless. Something to do with my hands.” 

Louis can think of a great many better things to do with Harry’s hands, but now’s neither the time nor the place for it. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Harry turns to him, gives him a blinding smile, and keeps organizing the papers. 

Louis is so, so screwed. 

\---

The next month brings the biannual donation gala -- one takes place in the spring, the other in the fall -- which means Louis spends two and a half weeks running around like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to get everything ready so Paul doesn’t bite anyone’s head off. This sort of event is something Louis’ used to; he was required to attend them at his previous job, and he’s always been sort of obnoxiously charming (emphasis on the obnoxious), so he feels at home begging old rich people for money. He imagines it’ll be similar to that. 

Of course, when the day arrives, Louis finds himself with less than an hour to change into his suit and try to wrangle his hair into something acceptable, and he’d forgotten his good hair-sculpting stuff at home, so it’s not going all that well. 

He’s frantically trying to button up his shirt when the door to Paul’s office creaks open and a startled voice says, “Oh, I’ll just, um --” 

Louis turns sharply, hands faltering on his buttons, leaving his shirt gaping at the chest. He should care, he should finish fastening it up, but he can’t, stuck on the sight of Harry in a slim cut suit jacket, black skinny jeans plastered to his legs instead of trousers, and a tight shirt covered in tiny white hearts. He blinks once, twice, and clears his throat when he realizes neither of them has spoken for an embarrassingly long amount of time. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out, feeling his cheeks heat up as he turns again, fingers resuming their job. 

“Um, Paul was looking for you,” Harry says, his voice sounding a bit thin. That makes Louis feel better, at least. He’s clearly not the only one affected by the situation. “Something about hors d'oeuvres gone wonky?” 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Louis repeats, abandoning the top button -- doesn’t ever fasten anyway, the stupid thing -- and forgoing his tie, slipping on his jacket quickly and stuffing his feet into shoes. He grabs the tub of wax he had managed to take from his flat this morning and scoops a bit out, rubbing it on his hands while walking toward the door. Harry opens it for him, pressing himself flat against it so Louis can fly by. 

“You’re not wearing any socks,” Harry calls after him, but Louis ignores it and focuses on trying to tame his hair while walking. It’s not that he means to ignore Harry, obviously, it’s just that Paul’s providing a convenient distraction. 

As it turns out, a whole crate of hors d'oeuvres has gone missing, which doesn’t make any sense, really, but there’s not much anyone can do about it except search high and low for the thing. 

Scrounging around the storage areas and a dirty transport van wasn’t really how Louis imagined spending the duration of his first big event, but here he is, arse up in the air as he (inanely) checks under _another_ table, looking for the stupid box. He’s just poked his head under when someone clears their throat behind him, startling him so badly that he hits his head on the underside of the table with a loud noise, groaning immediately. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, rubbing the sore spot as he backs out. It’s Harry behind him, looking sheepish and biting his bottom lip, because of course it’s Harry. 

“Let me guess,” Louis says with a sigh. “Something else has gone wrong.” 

“Nah,” Harry says, mouth curling into a grin. It makes Louis’ heart kick up in his chest. Damn it. “Told me to find you and let you know they found it.” 

Louis closes his eyes, inhales a breath on a six count and lets it go on a five. He stands, brushing off his trousers and running a hand through his hair. He can’t speak to any donors looking like this, but it’ll have to do. 

“Lead the way, then,” he says, and Harry looks happy to oblige. 

Paul let Louis make the majority of the decorating decisions, which means the whole affair has sort of a _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ feel to it. Fairy lights in the trees and across the top of the tent -- a precaution against spring showers, clearly -- plus pristine white linen tablecloths and small centerpieces on each table that fit with the zoo’s colors, forest green and white. There’s a bar at one end and a string quartet in the corner, and the whole thing is ridiculously classy, if Louis does say so himself. Which he does. 

It’s uncharacteristically warm for the spring, so Louis’ thankful he shucked his jacket earlier in his pursuit of the lost hors d’oeuvres. He rolls up his sleeves as he looks around the party, trying to spot any impending disasters. 

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” Harry says from beside him, holding out a flute of champagne. Louis’ used to him now, familiar with the sneaking, so he just reaches out, taking the glass from Harry’s large hand. 

“My mum hates them,” Louis says, because he supposes that’s the sort of thing you say. He doesn’t talk about his tattoos much. 

“My mum hates mine too,” Harry says with a laugh. 

“The ones on your arms?” Louis’ inclined to agree with Harry’s mother, really. The ones he’s seen all seem to be a smorgasbord of random images and phrases. The only one he likes is the ship, and that may or may not be because he’s been considering a compass of his own. 

Harry nods. “And the others.”

Well. That’s -- well. 

Louis quirks an eyebrow, taking a sip of his champagne. It’s sweet and sharp, hitting his tongue just the right way, and he doesn’t fail to notice how Harry’s eyes track the movement of his throat when he swallows. Louis meets his gaze easily when he glances up, not missing the way Harry’s eyes flick back down to his mouth, and then further down, to his hand wrapped around the stem of the flute. 

Harry reaches out, fingertip gently tracing the rope tattoo around Louis’ wrist. The contact sends shivers up Louis’ arm and he suppresses a shudder. 

“I like this one the most, I think,” he murmurs, and Louis feels his face flush. 

“It’s a good one,” he manages, looking away from Harry’s hand to find his gaze, heavy and intense from the way his ridiculous eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. 

Harry’s hand wraps around Louis’ wrist firmly, like he’s about to tug him closer, and Louis knows that it’d be awful and unprofessional of him to kiss Harry in the middle of one of their biggest fundraisers, but Harry’s eyes are still dark and intense, his lips red in the dimming light of the sun and slick, shiny, and soft-looking, and Louis wants nothing more than to feel them against his own. Fuck. 

“Harry,” he says, pained, nearly ready to take a step forward and thrust himself onto his toes to meet Harry’s mouth. Harry’s expression darkens, the hand around Louis’ wrist squeezes tighter, and he moves, ducking down. This is it, Louis’ really going to do it. 

He closes his eyes, tilts his head up just slightly --

A body slams into him from behind, pushing him forward into Harry, who’s clearly not expecting it from the way he stumbles and falls. Louis has excellent balance when his eyes are open and he’s not being held by the wrist and someone hasn’t plastered themselves to his back, so it makes sense that he goes tumbling after, landing on top of Harry. 

Louis gets a strong whiff of Gucci cologne before the person falls onto him, completing the heap of bodies on the ground. Gucci. Right. Gucci. 

Louis is going to murder Zayn. 

“I am going to murder you, Zayn,” he groans, opening his eyes and trying to roll. Zayn, slight as he may seem, can apparently make himself weigh two tonnes. Isn’t that a vampire thing? Being heavier than you seem? Louis is sure he read that somewhere. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Zayn says, or slurs, really, scrambling around to get up. He manages it, but only after elbowing Louis hard in the sternum. “Had a question.” 

Louis takes a deep breath, extricating himself from Harry, who’s sort of just laying on the ground with his eyes squeezed shut. His chest is moving, so Louis isn’t too worried really, but it’s still odd. He sits up, tugging his arm free from Harry’s vice-like grip. 

“What’s that, then?” he asks, standing and brushing off his trousers for the second time that evening. Really. He’s got to stop making such a spectacle of himself. 

“Not _here_ ,” Zayn hisses, sounding so out of sorts that Louis actually takes the time to look at him. And, well, Zayn looks trashed, really, with his hair askew and his eyes a bit glazed over. Perhaps he hadn’t eaten enough before having champagne. 

“Alright,” Louis says placidly, not wanting to cause more of a scene than they already have. He can see patrons glancing over at them, staring at Harry -- who’s still on the ground, for God’s sake -- and whispering. He can only hope Paul doesn’t flay him later. “Let’s go somewhere private, then.” 

Zayn nods, and goes easily when Louis steers him away with a hand to his shoulder, leaving Harry quite literally in the dust. 

\---

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Louis says, pinching the bridge of his nose. It must’ve been fifteen minutes since he and Zayn found somewhere private to have a chat, so it’s been maybe thirteen minutes of Louis trying to understand what the hell Zayn’s even talking about. 

“There’s a bloke with hair and he was at the bar with another bloke with hair,” Louis says slowly, only slightly encouraged by the way Zayn nods. “The first bloke turned around and -- spilled his drink? Did something with his drink. The second bloke cleaned it up for him.” Zayn nods again, and Louis has to ask: 

“Why the hell did you pull me out of my own event to tell me this?” 

Zayn flails a little. “Because he’s _the_ bloke. With the hair!” 

“As you’ve said,” Louis responds wryly, “but you’ve said there are two blokes with hair. And I’m also not entirely sure what ‘the hair’ means. Have you heard of adjectives?”

“S’like, brown. And blond,” Zayn says, still waving his hands around. Louis’ a bit worried for his own safety, really. “One blokeses’ is blond. The other is brown.” 

It’s something, at least. 

“So which one is _the_ bloke?” Louis can’t really believe he’s having this conversation. He could be snogging Harry. 

“Brown,” Zayn says, taking a deep breath. “Brown hair. He’s like -- he looks like David Beckham, kinda, and I -- Lou -- what if he’s a donor, like --”

“Wait, wait wait, hold on,” Louis says, putting his hands on Zayn’s shoulders. “Are you talking about _Liam_?” 

“Liam,” Zayn repeats with a dreamy sigh. Louis might smack him. “Is that his name?” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Unless you know some other person who works here who looks vaguely like David Beckham, then yes.” 

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn sighs again. Louis ignores him. 

“So you like him?” 

Zayn changes at that, as if it’s the first moment he’s actually considered anything other than the fact that Liam’s attractive. “I’d like to know him,” he says eventually, something like determination hardening his features. “I’d like that, at least.” 

Louis grins at him. “I may be able to help you with that.” 

\---

Admittedly, the right thing to do would’ve been to introduce Zayn to Liam when they got back to the party, not deposit Zayn in a group of potential donors to talk about the latest exhibits, but, well, it is a work function, so Louis doesn’t feel all that bad about it, really. 

He beelines for Harry, who’s in a group himself, laughing politely at some story that’s probably dreadfully boring. Louis grabs him by the arm, tugging him away. 

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment please, there’s been a bit of an emergency,” Louis says, smiling in a way that he knows makes people agree to whatever it is he’s saying. 

Harry struggles against him. “Louis, what --” 

“Shhh, in a moment,” he says, pulling Harry back toward catering and behind the van. He entertains the thought, briefly, of pushing him against the metal door and kissing him senseless, but it’d be too easy for someone to find them. Someone like Paul. 

“Zayn likes Liam,” he says without preamble, feeling a bit like he’s back in sixth form. Harry seems to take a moment, his brow creasing in confusion before smoothing out, his eyes going wide. 

“That’s brilliant,” he says, “now we don’t have to scheme!” 

“Are you joking?” Louis sounds a bit affronted. He feels affronted, at the very least. “Of course we’re going to scheme. Scheming is what I do! It’s practically my middle name.” 

“I thought it was William,” Harry says, quirking a brow, and now is really not the best time for Louis’ heart to go all fluttery like some lovesick fool. 

“Shut up, Harold,” he says, waving a hand. “We’re going to scheme.” 

Harry shrugs easily. “Alright, I guess. Not right now though, right?” 

“Why not now,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Um,” Harry frowns. “We’re sort of --” He gestures, and Louis remembers that they are, in fact, still at work. Technically. Shit. “And I do have to speak to people.” 

“Right,” Louis says, clearing his throat and taking a step away from Harry. “Right, of course. Monday, then.” 

Harry nods, and Louis gives him a smile, already thinking of ways to force Liam and Zayn together.

\---

Louis plops down at the usual picnic table on Monday next to Niall, who seems to be the only one who’s made it so far.

“Alright?” Louis asks, giving him a nudge. Niall nods as he stuffs a crisp into his mouth. Louis doesn’t really know much about Niall, other than that he’s Irish and went to uni with Liam. He thinks maybe he’s heard something about Niall having a girlfriend, but he can’t be sure. Louis can’t have that, can’t be friends with someone without knowing anything about them. 

“Zayn likes Liam,” Louis says for the second time in a week, still feeling like he’s in sixth form. It’s nice, in a way. It’s also very, very bizarre. 

Niall’s eyes widen. “No way,” he says, and Louis grins. 

“Oh yes.” A pause wherein Louis peels the lid off his lunch, and then: “You’ll help me scheme, won’t you, Nialler?” 

“No one knows Liam better n’ me, mate,” Niall says, grinning. Louis grins back, and they eat in relative silence until Harry, hair full of feathers, approaches the table, grumbling about...something. Louis isn’t really paying attention. He’s got more important things to think about, after all. 

\---

The Idea comes the next month, when Louis is doing some preliminary list-making for the next big event: a weekend carnival/fete sort of thing, complete with booths and games and music and food. 

Louis loves making lists -- loves being able to see everything he’s got to do in the order he’s got to do it, loves being able to get his ideas down without necessarily having to go into great detail, loves the simple organisation of it, and most of all, loves the feeling of marking something off once he’s finished it. 

He has a whole separate notebook and pen specifically for making lists. It’d probably be a problem if it weren’t so beneficial. 

In any case, he’s writing down ideas for some engaging sorts of games and activities that are only borderline cheesy, when inspiration hits. 

“Oh my god,” he says aloud in his empty office. Paul’s gone to some meeting or another. Louis doesn’t keep tabs on him, that’s not part of his job. Anyway. “Oh my _god_.” 

He picks up the desk phone, dialing the extension for the aviary instantly, tapping his pen on the desk as the line rings. 

“Hello?” Harry’s low rumble answers him. Louis checks the clock -- 2 p.m. Harry’s probably been having a bit of a doze, the lazy sod. 

“I’ve got the perfect plan,” he says, practically bouncing in his desk chair. It’s a good thing he’s alone in the office, really. 

“Good afternoon, Louis,” Harry says with a sigh, but Louis knows he’s smiling, can hear it in his voice. “I’m well, thanks for asking.” 

“Please, I saw you an hour ago, I know I interrupted your nap,” Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes. Harry doesn’t disagree. “D’you want to hear the plan or not?” 

“Suppose so, if you went through the trouble of waking me.” 

“A kissing booth,” Louis says proudly, grinning like a maniac. He actually can’t believe it took him this long to come up with it. “It’s perfect. I’ll get one of them to take a shift, and then convince the other to buy a kiss. Voila! Instant love.” 

“I’m not sure it works quite like that,” Harry says, “but I suppose it’s as good an idea as any. I still say we just introduce them.” 

“Fine, fine, we can do that too,” Louis concedes. The more comfortable they are with each other, the easier it’ll be to convince them to kiss. “I’ll invite Zayn to lunch. Don’t warn Liam though, alright?” 

“Sure.” Harry pauses, though Louis doesn’t really notice, since he’s busy writing a new list, entitled “things I need to do to get a ZIAM KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!”. It’s vitally important, obviously. 

“So,” Harry intones. Louis doesn’t pay him much mind. “Are you planning on taking a shift?” 

“What?” Louis says, frowning. “A shift where?” 

“In the booth.” 

In the boo-- _Oh_. “Harry Styles, you rascal,” Louis says, pleased. It’s nice to know that the tension at the fundraiser hadn’t been entirely made up on his end, since Harry had gone back to acting as though nothing had happened when they saw each other this morning. “I suppose I’ll have to, to make it more credible, yeah? Besides, who wouldn’t want a piece of this.” 

“I’ve honestly got no idea,” Harry laughs, and Louis grins into the phone. 

\---

“Louis, are you alright, mate? You’re a bit --” Liam jiggles a hand in his face. “-- Twitchy, like.” 

“Wonderful, thank you Liam,” Louis says, not really listening. He may be twitchy, but it’s only because Stage One of Operation: Important Ziam Kiss is today. Louis knew Zayn would be at the zoo for lunch today, so he invited him to sit with him at the picnic tables. Of course, he forgot to mention that it wouldn’t just be Louis he’d be eating with, but whatever. It’s not as if the tables are private anyway. And Louis is very charming. Loads of people want to eat lunch with him. Obviously. 

Louis stills his leg when a large, warm hand slides onto it, squeezing his knee. He looks up and flashes a grin at Harry, who smiles back. God, Louis still wants to kiss him so badly. 

“What’s this, then?” Niall asks, crunching down on a crisp. He must spend half his paycheque on crisps, truly. Louis rarely ever sees him without a bag in hand. 

Harry frowns at Niall. “What’s what?” He sounds a bit offended, but his hand hasn’t moved from Louis’ knee, so Louis is counting it as a win. 

Niall gestures between the two of them. “This. You two. You together, or what?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Niall,” Louis says primly, though he’s really rather pleased that his efforts to constantly flirt haven’t been unnoticed by everyone. (Just by Harry, it seems, which is a different thing altogether.) “But Harold here is the father of my unborn child,” he says, placing a hand over his belly. 

Niall screws up his face in a way that Louis can only assume means he’s more than slightly horrified. He grins. 

“Regret asking, don’t you?” 

“I really, really do,” Niall says, shaking his head. Louis laughs, nudging Harry in the ribs with his elbow. He’s quiet, and for a moment Lous thinks he may have gone too far, because pregnancy jokes aren’t really everyone’s cup of tea, he knows, but then Harry’s expression clears and he smiles at Louis. 

“Alright?” Louis asks, and Harry nods, unzipping his lunch bag. It’s an actual lunchbox, like you’d take to school or something, though it doesn’t have any embarrassing design. It’s just green and plain and has a little zip and matching thermos. Louis is incredibly endeared by it and wishes he wasn’t. 

“Oh my god,” Liam says, pulling Louis from his thoughts, “Is that -- that’s Zayn. That’s _Zayn_.” 

Louis turns to follow Liam’s wide-eyed gaze, smiling widely when he spots Zayn striding toward them, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, the other carrying a brown paper sack. Louis waves, and turns back around when he hears Liam make a noise. 

“What are you _doing_???” Liam hisses it at him, eyes still wide, and Louis can feel Harry shaking with laughter beside him. Niall’s smiling into his sandwich, but Louis isn’t entirely sure he’s even paying attention to what’s going on. He tends to smile at his food, is all. 

“Waving to my friend, Liam,” Louis says. “It’d be terribly rude of me to ignore him after inviting him, wouldn’t it?” 

“You --” Liam starts to say, but Louis turns sharply to look at Zayn again, scooting closer to Harry on the bench. 

“Come on Zayn, plenty of room,” he says with a wide grin, pleased when Zayn plops down next to him and slides his sunglasses into his hair. He really is unfairly pretty. 

“I hate you, Tommo,” Zayn mutters, but Louis just throws back his head and laughs. 

For all their griping about it, lunch goes well, and it ends with Zayn and Liam exchanging numbers, so Louis really doesn’t think either of them can be all that mad at him. They spend most of the time talking about superheroes, which is pretty par for the course for each of them, so Louis doesn’t really keep up the thread of the conversation. 

Instead, he busies himself with eating and watching Harry eat and trying not to get distracted by the press of their thighs. Because even though there’s a good half-meter of bench on the other side of Harry, he hadn’t moved when Louis scooted closer to make room for Zayn. Hence the thigh pressing, and also the constant knock of their limbs when Harry goes to reach for something. It’s not bad, not at all. It’s just confusing and takes up most of Louis’ attention for the hour that they’re all together. 

“Louis, mate, did you hear me?” Niall’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he blinks. He’s got to stop zoning out. It’s a problem. 

“No, sorry, what?” 

“I asked if Paul’s got a band lined up for next week or not.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Louis nods, picking up his coke to take a sip. “He’s got some local people, I think. Dunno their names, but they called to confirm today.” Although the bloke he spoke to on the phone hadn’t sounded like the most reliable person in the world, but, well. Louis will deal with it if he has to. 

“Did you get everyone to sign up for that thing you needed?” Harry asks in what seems like an innocent voice, but Louis knows better. He grins up at him. Harry means the kissing booth, of course. They (he, Harry, and Niall) had decided the only way to get either Zayn or Liam to sign up was to make sure they had no idea what it was they were actually agreeing to. 

“You know, I didn’t. I’ve still got like, three slots left to fill.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows, affecting a casually concerned and interested expression. Louis loves him. “What times?” 

“Two, three, and four-thirty,” he says, recalling the list he’d made earlier. 

“I’ll take the two o’clock,” Niall says with a nod. “If you’ll have me, of course.” 

Louis smiles sweetly. “Of course, Nialler, we’d love to have you.” It’s true; Louis imagines Niall would be very cute, if he weren’t quite so taken with Harry. He looks around the table at the others, pinning his stare on Harry. 

“Yeah, alright, I’ll take the three,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. He’s already signed up for it, of course. So has Niall. 

Louis turns to Zayn, looking at him expectantly. “Well?” 

Zayn doesn’t take the bait, damn him. “Well what?” 

“Are you going to sign up or not?” 

Zayn narrows his eyes, clearly trying to suss out whatever it is that Louis is planning. Louis smiles at him, waiting for his answer. 

“Sure. Four-thirty?” 

“Four-thirty,” Louis confirms. “There’s a meeting about it tomorrow, right after lunch. Don’t be late, alright?” 

Zayn nods his assent and Louis grins at the squeeze of Harry’s hand on his thigh. 

\---

“A kissing booth? Tommo, you can’t be serious,” Zayn says the next day, staring up at Louis, his face wrought with disbelief. Louis holds in his cackle, but only just. He shrugs instead, giving a serene smile before moving on to pass out the booth assignments to the rest of the volunteers. Louis tried to get as much of the staff as he could, because it’s important the public know who runs their zoo. Or something. 

The meeting goes smoothly, and despite Zayn’s initial hesitation, he seems fine with his assignment by the end of the day. It probably has something to do with the fact that he’s not required to give kisses on the mouth. They’re frowned upon, actually, so that’s surely a relief to him. 

It seems to be the opposite for Harry, however, who pouts as Louis follows him out into the fresh air. He’s been cooped up inside all day, attending meeting after meeting since Paul went home early, and the sun warms his skin, making it prickle with heat, even though it’s still relatively cool. 

“I can’t believe we can’t kiss on the mouth,” Harry says, absolutely pouting about it. Louis snorts at him. 

“It’s to avoid lawsuits, Harold. Don’t need someone suing us because you decided you’d slip them some tongue.” 

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts more, mouth turned down and making him look like a frog until Louis pinches his side, tickling him. This, naturally, starts a slap fight when Harry smacks his hands away and Louis hits back. 

“I’m only teasing,” Louis says, catching Harry’s hand and sliding their fingers together. To keep him from hitting again, obviously. Ahem. “You can kiss me on the mouth, if you’d like. Special permission.” 

Harry smiles down at him, eyes bright with amusement. “You’ll buy a kiss from me?” 

“Of course,” Louis says, squeezing his hand and letting it go. “Who wouldn’t?” 

Because really, Louis has a hard time imagining that anyone could see Harry and not want to kiss him immediately. He’d gladly pay a quid or five for a chance at those pink lips. Not that Harry needs to know that. Makes the whole thing seem a bit cheap, really. 

“I should get going,” Harry says, scratching a hand through his hair. Louis nods, clearing his throat. 

“Right, all those birds to feed, yeah?”

Harry nods, smiling. Louis gives him a wave and watches him turn his back, walking down the path toward the aviary. He stands there only a minute longer than necessary and turns to go back into the office. He’s got things to do, after all. 

\---

Paul doesn’t show up for the rest of the week, calling in and telling Louis he’s fallen ill from some nasty form of the flu that’s kept him bedridden for the past two days. Louis only has a moment to worry about his own health before: 

“Wait, hold on,” he says into the phone, frantic, sitting straight up in his desk chair. It rolls back a little, and Louis has to scramble for the desk so he doesn’t fall flat on his face. “You’re going to be here next week though, right? The event?” 

“Well,” Paul says, and immediately starts coughing. Fuck, that’s not good. Fuck. _Fuck_. Louis’ going to have to do it all himself. He can’t handle that. Shit. 

“Paul, please tell me you’ll be okay,” he says, verging on desperation. It’s dramatic, sure, but Louis thinks this is a rather dramatic situation. This is an important event, and if anything goes wrong, it’s not just himself that he’s making look bad. He can’t afford to get fired, no matter how temporary this job may be. 

“I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises,” Paul tells him when he’s stopped coughing. “And if I’m not, you can phone me any time, alright?” 

“You’re going to regret saying that,” Louis says, feeling marginally better. Louis is fairly certain he can’t screw up anything so badly that Paul wouldn’t be able to fix it over the phone. Hopefully. 

“I won’t, Louis, now go on, enjoy your weekend.”

“Right.” Louis takes a deep breath in and exhales. It’ll be okay. It will. “See you next week, then.” 

Louis doesn’t see him next week, though. Paul’s condition apparently has to get worse before it can get better, so he spends the next three days still in bed and talking Louis through the final confirmations and appointments over the phone. 

“Now, Cecil will try to stiff you on the tents, but don’t let him, alright?” Paul says, sounding less tired than he had the day before, which is hopeful. But still, Louis doubts he’ll be able to walk around a busy carnival. He’ll need to rest. Which means Louis will have to deal with everything on his own. 

Okay. Deep breath in and exhale. Right. It’ll be okay. It will. It _will_.

“I won’t,” Louis says, scratching a hand through his hair, “I’ll tell him you’ll have his bollocks if anything’s not right.” 

Paul laughs. “Taught you well, I see,” he says, and Louis can’t help but grin. He likes feeling like he’s good at things, even if he’s really only barely avoiding catastrophe. It’s a nice illusion, at least. 

\---

The fucking band cancels at the last minute. 

And last minute seriously means _last minute_. They call Louis at noon the Friday the carnival’s supposed to start, right before he heads outside to eat lunch. 

“Yeah, man, I’m really sorry, but our bassist had the flu last week and got like, everyone sick,” the bloke says, and Louis feels unsteady on his feet for a moment. A lot of moments, actually. “We can’t make it.” 

Louis sits down hard in his chair, the air rushing out of his lungs in a _whoosh_. “Are you-- D’you have anyone that you could send instead?” he asks, voice high and probably slightly desperate. 

“Sorry,” the bloke says, and he does actually sound sorry, which is nice. Though Louis supposes he’d be sorry about losing his paycheque too. Fuck, he will be sorry about it, once Louis gets fired because the fucking band cancelled on him. “Hope you find someone though.” 

Louis suppresses his snort and gives a short thanks before slamming the phone down. He stares at the wall and allows himself ten seconds of blind panic before he stands, ignoring the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. 

This is fine. It’s a hiccup, but Louis can deal with it. Surely he knows someone who knows someone who plays a bloody instrument. Doesn’t everyone play guitar nowadays? 

He grabs his lunch from the mini fridge and heads outside, plopping the tupperware on the table before sitting down and calmly resting his hands on the wood. Only Niall and Harry are there, but that doesn’t matter. They still might be able to help. 

“So,” he says, staring straight ahead and not looking at either of them. “We’ve got a problem.” 

“What is it?” Harry immediately asks, the concern in his voice making something warm curl in Louis’ belly. He pushes the feeling away, unable to deal with it at the moment. 

“The band cancelled,” he tells them, sounding a lot calmer than he actually feels. “And I don’t have a replacement.” 

“I play guitar,” Niall says, shrugging when Louis looks at him sharply. “Learned awhile ago. Sing sometimes, too.” 

That’s better than nothing, Louis thinks. “Do you know any actual songs?” 

Niall nods. 

“I play guitar too, actually,” Harry says, “and a bit of bass.” 

That’s even better. “Do _you_ know any songs? Do you know the same songs? Can you please, please perform tonight and I’ll owe you both ten thousand favors?” So much for not seeming desperate. But, whatever, Louis _is_ desperate, actually, so who the fuck cares. 

“I don’t mind,” Niall shrugs, “But I probably couldn’t do the booth thing.” 

“Right, no, of course you wouldn’t have to, neither of you,” Louis says quickly, frantically. 

“Ashton plays the drums, right Niall?” Harry asks, looking like he’s thinking it over. Louis silently begs him to say yes. He has to say yes. He has to. Louis will probably kiss him on the mouth if he does. 

“Think so. He’d definitely be up for it, too. Loves performing.” 

“Yeah, alright, that sounds fine,” Harry says with a shrug of his shoulders, nonchalant, like he didn’t just fucking save Louis’ _life_. 

“Fuck,” Louis chokes, collapsing forward onto the table. “Thank you, oh my god. Seriously, anything you want, just -- thank you.” 

“No problem, mate,” Niall says, popping open his bag of crisps. Louis’ going to buy him a whole crate of them. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Harry murmurs to him, voice low as he unzips his lunchbox. God. How does he make that so hot?? 

“Counting on it,” Louis says, just as Liam plops down next to Niall. 

“What’s wrong with Tommo, then?” Liam asks, stuffing a hand into his bag and pulling out a sandwich wrapped in saran wrap. Louis watches as he unpeels the plastic off itself and tears the sandwich in half, putting one half down as he eats the other. 

“Well,” Louis says finally, and launches into the story.

\---

“Hiiiiiii, we’re, um. Well, we’re Harry and Niall, but you can call us the Clamoring Condors.” 

Harry’s voice sounds deeper over the microphone, but also tinnier, somehow. It’s probably a shitty system or something. Louis doesn’t know. 

“Seriously, Haz?” Niall arches an eyebrow at him from across the stage, guitar slung over his shoulder. 

Harry looks affronted. “What? It’s clever!” 

“It really, really isn’t.”

“Anyway,” Harry says, making a face that draws a laugh from the small audience that’s gathered around the stage. “It’s just us tonight, and I hope you’ll forgive the lack of drums. Neither of us play very well.” 

“Oh, do get on with it!” Louis shouts from his position in the back, grinning when Harry looks up to spot him. 

“Right, well, we do love to please,” he says, and launches into some song that Louis’ never heard. 

He has to admit, though, that Harry does look good up there, onstage. He’s in a black t-shirt and jeans, the neck of the shirt stretched wide to show some sparrow tattoos on his chest. His hair’s held back by a bandana that is, inexplicably, the American flag, and he’s wearing some awful, dark, scuffed-up Chelsea boots. It works for him, though, in a disgusting hipster sort of way. It certainly does nothing to quell the feeling of want that punches Louis in the gut every time he looks at him. 

And then he starts singing, low and deep and sort of raspy, and Louis thinks he actually might combust if he stays a second longer. He turns his focus to Niall, who also looks good onstage, bright and full of energy. They certainly work well with each other, and if Louis didn’t know better, he might think they were an actual performing duo instead of two biologists who work at the zoo. 

The song ends, and the steadily growing crowd applauds. Louis catches Harry’s gaze and gives him a thumbs up before turning to check on the rest of the booths. It’s his job, after all. He should probably do it, or something, and not just spend the rest of the day staring at Harry. 

The stalls seem to be functioning fine, even though there are more volunteers than staff members running them. Louis generally distrusts the volunteers, because he’s never met a single one that’s competent enough to do anything without pestering him with questions the whole time. Sure, he’s technically the volunteer coordinator during most events, but that still doesn’t mean he should have to hold their bloody hands. 

In any case, Louis moves easily through the booths and activities, stopping to watch Liam at the kissing booth, having taken over for Niall. Louis will take Harry’s shift as well as his own, but that’s not until later. Right now, he gets to watch as Liam’s eyes crinkle up and a mother brings her two children for kisses. 

“He makes me want to puke,” Zayn says next to him, coming out of nowhere. Louis doesn’t startle, much too used to the fact that everyone who works at this place could moonlight as a jewel thief. 

“Thought you liked him.” 

“I do,” Zayn nods, hands rifling through his pockets. He pulls out a cigarette, but Louis slaps it out of his hand. 

“You can’t kiss people with tobacco mouth. Wait a few hours,” he says, ignoring Zayn’s glare. “And generally, when you like people, they don’t want to make you puke.” 

“He’s just so perfect,” Zayn sighs, at least half dreamily. “Proper perfect, like. Like a prince or summat.” 

“He’s hardly a prince,” Louis says, “He can barely use Twitter, most days. Don’t think he could figure out global trade agreements.” 

Zayn punches him swiftly in the shoulder. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, as Louis rubs a hand over what will surely be a bruise tomorrow. Christ. 

“Sorry.” Louis will have to add ‘overprotective’ to the list of things he knows about Zayn. “It’s true, though. He’s always asking me how to find the trending topics.” 

Zayn snorts and rolls his eyes, wandering off somewhere, probably to go smoke in private, the jerk. Louis watches as Liam spots him, his eyes brightening and crinkling up at the sides, no doubt hoping Zayn’ll get in the steadily growing line in front of the booth. Louis knows Zayn won’t, though. It’ll have to be Liam who makes the first move. 

Louis knows just how to make it happen.

\---

“Lemonade?” Louis offers the large plastic cup to Liam, who’s just got off his shift at the kissing booth. Louis’ got a half hour before it’s his turn, and he intends to use it. 

“Thanks,” Liam says slowly, taking the cup and peering into it, sniffing it almost suspiciously. “You haven’t done anything to this, have you?” 

Louis gives him an offended look. “Payno, what could I even do to a cup of lemonade?” 

“I’m sure you’d think of something,” Liam says, sniffing it again before deeming it acceptable and taking a sip. Louis thinks that’s all a bit ridiculous, especially since Liam spends more than eight hours a day dealing with very, very smelly animals. 

“Well, whatever, anyway, how’re things with Zayn?” 

Liam looks at Louis over the rim of his cup, raising an eyebrow. “They’re fine. Why?” 

Louis shrugs. “Dunno. Thought maybe something would’ve happened by now, what with how Zayn wants your dick and all.” 

“You’re lying,” Liam says quickly, his cheeks pinking up. “This isn’t funny, Lou. It’s not a funny joke.” 

“One, I’m not joking,” Louis says, actually a bit offended that Liam thinks he’s that much of an arsehole. “Two, what kind of friend d’you think I am? Why would I tell you someone likes you if they didn’t?” 

“Well -- I mean -- people used to all the time,” Liam stutters out, his face turning from pink to red. Louis feels a surge of protectiveness over Liam, wants to murder anyone who’s ever made him this unsure of himself. 

“Then those people weren’t your friends,” Louis says fiercely, making Liam flinch a bit. “But. Anyway. I’m your friend, and I’m telling you, Zayn’s up for it.” 

“Really?” The cautious hope in Liam’s tone kind of makes Louis regret not just telling Liam to ask Zayn on a date in the first place. But, this’ll be a better story to tell the grandkids. 

“Yes, really. Honestly.” Louis puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder, shaking him a bit. “He’s working the booth at four-thirty.” 

Liam smiles and nods, taking another sip of his drink. Louis swings an arm around his shoulders and steers him off to where Harry and Niall are still performing. He’s still got some time, after all. 

\---

“A kissing booth was a terrible idea, I don’t know who let me get away with it,” Louis says later in the loo, Niall laughing beside him as he scrubs lip gloss off his face. He doesn’t mind lipstick, really, because the colors are fun and nice, but lip gloss was probably invented by Satan himself and introduced into the world to punish anyone for their misdeeds. Seriously. Sticky gel covering his cheeks is the worst feeling ever. 

“So we’re blamin’ Paul for this one?” Niall asks, turning the faucet on and sticking his own hands under it. Their set ended a few minutes ago, but they’ve still got another to play later in the night. Harry disappeared somewhere before Louis could get a _thank you you’re great congratulations, now kiss me_ in, so he supposes he’ll have to wait until later. 

“We’re blaming Paul for absolutely everything,” Louis says, scrubbing at his face until it’s pink and raw. Seriously. Lip gloss. 

He and Niall make their way from the loo to the outdoor dining area. Which isn’t so much a “dining area” as it is some picnic tables and food booths scattered in a semicircle. Louis buys himself a Coke and a sausage on a bun, claiming a table as Niall considers his options. He’s not particular about what he eats, not really, but he likes to weigh the best options and then usually go with two or three of them. Louis has no idea how he puts away so much food. It must have something to do with chasing after lions every day. 

Niall plops down a few minutes later with a sausage on a bun, fish and chips, and a bag of...well, Louis isn’t really sure what’s in the bag. Nuts, maybe? Popcorn? He’s also got a Coke set out in front of him. Louis stares. 

“What? Performing makes me hungry,” Niall says with a shrug, and Louis parrots the motion back at him. 

“Just don’t eat so much that you vomit onstage,” Louis says, taking a bite of his own sausage. “We can’t have that, alright?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Niall answers through a mouthful of fish. Disgusting. Louis has no idea why he’s friends with him. 

“You’re disgusting,” Louis informs him with a grimace, but Niall just swallows and laughs. 

“Love you too, Lou,” he says, and Louis rolls his eyes in response, grinning into his sausage. It sucks that he lost his job a month ago, and it sucks that he hasn’t been able to find a job in his field -- not that he’s been actively looking, actually, with how busy he’s been here, but whatever -- but he’s glad that he at least found Niall and Liam and Harry and Zayn. He seriously can’t imagine this place without them. 

Christ, all right, that’s too many sappy feelings for one day. Louis needs to find a volunteer to yell at to balance it out. 

\---

The kissing booth’s last shift ends just before Harry and Niall take the stage again, so it makes perfect sense that Louis is standing off to the side, waiting for Zayn. 

Of course, Zayn can’t exactly see him, what with how he’s a bit hidden by another tent, and maybe Louis practically dove behind it when he saw Liam striding over to the booth with a determined look on his face. He’s just close enough that he can hear what Zayn says to each person as they approach him, which is lucky, since Zayn spots Liam in the next moment and smirks. It grows wider as Liam goes to the end of the line, and by the time Liam’s worked his way up to the front, Zayn is full-out grinning, his eyes bright and happy. Liam looks shy and nervous but determined, and Louis has to put a hand over his mouth to keep from making any obnoxious noises and ruining the moment. 

“Liam, you work here,” Zayn says as Liam shuffles up to the booth, slipping a coin into the container on the table. 

Liam shrugs, grinning. “It’s still a good cause though, yeah?” He leans in a bit, clearly going for Zayn’s cheek. Zayn rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. 

“Yeah, come on then,” he says, pulling Liam in by the collar and pressing their mouths together. Liam flails a bit, arms akimbo as Zayn tugs him closer, until they’re both pressed against the table. Liam’s hands settle on Zayn’s shoulders, one wrapping around the back of his neck. It looks like a good kiss, from what Louis can see, and they’ve certainly made enough of a spectacle that other attendees have taken notice and stopped to watch. 

Louis snickers as a girl behind him sighs and says, “He didn’t kiss _me_ like that. He didn’t kiss me at all!” 

Liam looks dazed as Zayn pulls away and really, who can blame him? His cheeks are pink and flushed, and he’s grinning like a maniac, and it’s all so cute that Louis wants to throw clods of dirt at both of them. He won’t, though, because he’s nice like that. 

“If you two are quite finished,” Louis says, striding forward and apparently startling them, judging by how they jump and turn to look at him, “Harry and Niall’s second set is about to start. We don’t want to miss it.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes but follows anyway, Liam trailing behind him, holding a hand to his mouth and looking like he can’t quite believe it. 

Louis’ happy for them, he is, but he also can’t help but feel a little jealous, especially as they get to the stage and watch Harry and Niall perform. Harry’s just -- he’s magnetic in a strange way that Louis doesn’t fully comprehend but is still helpless against. But he’s also maddeningly closed off. Not in an obvious way, since he’s really one of the more open and confident people that Louis’ met, but it’s -- Christ, it’s hard to explain. 

All Louis really knows is that it’s been almost two months of flirting and no action, and that’s completely unacceptable. He’ll obviously have to change that. 

He gets his chance when everything’s over for the night. Liam and Zayn have gone off somewhere, probably to snog each others’ faces off, leaving Harry, Niall, and Louis to help the volunteers clean up. Or supervise the cleaning, at least. 

“So,” Harry says, nudging his shoulder into Louis’ as they unwind some cables and organize them into piles. “What did you think? You think the Clamoring Condors will get a record deal?” 

Louis snorts. “I think you should stick to birds, mate,” he says, pinching at Harry’s ribs when he frowns. “Hey, I’m kidding. You were great.” 

“Really?” The tentative smile Harry gives him could probably end wars, it’s that cute. God, Louis has got to get a hold of himself.

“Really,” he nods. “Should’ve set up a merch stand. T-shirts with condors playing the drums on, you know.” 

“Shut up,” Harry says with a laugh, going back to his cables. The smile stays, so that’s probably what makes Louis speak again. 

“I guess I owe you, yeah? A huge favor.” 

Harry frowns. “No, I was happy to do it. Y’don’t owe me anything.” 

“Really?” Louis raises an eyebrow. “There’s nothing you want from me? 

“Well --” Harry’s cheeks flush and Louis grins. Yes, yes this is exactly what he was hoping for. “I suppose you could go on a date with me,” he says, and then immediately frowns again. Louis isn’t sure why he’s frowning, but he’s not paying it much mind over the balloon of giddiness that’s just burst in his chest. 

“That’s not -- I meant -- you don’t _owe_ me a date, obviously,” Harry says, still frowning. “And if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’m sorry. That was so inappropriate.” 

Louis laughs. “It was, but I won’t tell if you don’t.” Harry smiles, looking relieved, so Louis continues, “And I’d absolutely love to go on a date with you.” 

Harry’s answering grin is enough to leave Louis smiling the rest of the night.

\---

Louis meets Harry at a restaurant he’s never been to, one of those New Age sort of places that serves as many “alternative” options as they do regular ones. Louis doesn’t have anything against it -- the food’s pretty good, actually -- he just can’t decide whether it’s something he should be surprised by or not. 

He thinks not. He and Harry have had one too many conversations about the benefits of yoga to really be surprised about anything. (Honestly, he’s just glad there was never a practical demonstration. Those are not images Louis’ brain needs.) 

In any case, over the course of the meal, he learns that Harry has a sister, a mother, and a stepfather, that he’s obsessed with cats and bananas, and that birds are pretty much his whole life. Like, his whole life. 

“I dunno, I just love them, y’know? What they symbolise,” he says over little cups of gelato that they’d taken to go. The sun’s set, of course, so the street lights illuminate their way down toward the Underground. Louis isn’t sure if they’re going back to the same apartment tonight or not. He thinks maybe they might. 

“Birds?” Louis didn’t know they actually symbolised anything. “What do you mean?” 

“In like, literature and mythology and folklore and stuff,” Harry shrugs. “Usually freedom, choice, safety and loyalty, y’know.”

“I didn’t, but that’s interesting.” 

Harry looks at him for a moment, his eyes searching Louis’ face in a way that feels too intimate for the way they’re in the middle of an open street. Then he blinks and shakes his head, laughing a bit. 

“Nevermind, that’s boring, we don’t have to talk about it.” 

Louis frowns. “No, hey,” he says, winding an arm through one of Harry’s, tugging him closer. “It is interesting. Really. Tell me more.” 

Harry looks at him again for a moment, mouth twitching into a smile, and Louis wants nothing more to kiss him. That’d probably contradict what he’s just said though, so he doesn’t. 

“You know Steve?” Harry says finally, tossing his empty cup into a bin as they walk. 

“The one that nearly pecked my eyes out? How could I forget.” 

Harry snorts, rolling his eyes. “He wouldn’t have pecked your eyes out, Lou, Jesus. Get a grip.” He squeezes Louis’ hand, maybe to further illustrate his point, or just to make a shiver run up Louis’ spine. Louis has no idea. 

“He’s a white ibis,” Harry continues, and Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder as he listens, comfortable. “And in like, Ancient Egypt? They were a symbol for a god, Thoth, who was like, the god of wisdom and writing and knowledge.” 

“And you named him Steve,” Louis snorts, shaking his head. “Good one.” 

“ _I_ didn’t name him,” Harry says, seemingly unbothered by Louis’ jab. Good. “Someone else named him. He doesn’t really respond to the name anyway.” 

“Right, of course, because he’s a free bird, eh?” Louis grins. 

Harry stares, stunned into silence. Louis is oddly proud. 

“I can’t believe you just made that joke,” Harry says finally, making Louis roll his eyes. 

“Please. I know you’ve made it before and will probably make it again.” 

Harry shrugs, jostling Louis’ head. “Guess so. M’just surprised you thought of it. Birds aren’t your thing, right?” 

Louis smirks, tilts his head up to murmur into Harry’s ear. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

He pulls back, pleased to see that Harry’s cheeks have gone pink. 

“I could be,” Harry rumbles out, and Louis bites down on his own bottom lip, trying to contain his smirk. He catches his gaze, want pooling in his belly at how dark Harry’s eyes have gone, how warm he suddenly seems, pressed up against Louis’ side. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, voice rough, “you definitely could.” 

Harry blinks, eyes widening just a little as Louis’ words hit him, and he lets out a puff of breath that makes Louis laugh. 

The sound cuts off at the touch of Harry’s palm to his jaw, smooth and warm. 

“Fuck, Lou, are you sure?” Harry says, voice soft and the tiniest bit unsure, and Louis _hates_ that, hates that there’s even a question in his mind about whether or not Louis wants this. 

“Yes,” he says firmly, sneaking a hand between the open folds of Harry’s jacket and twisting a hand in his jumper to tug on him. “ _Yes,_ , god. Of course.” 

From there, it’s a rush to the bus station, a frantic discussion about who’s flat is closer -- Harry’s, it turns out -- and an excruciating eight-minute-long ride with Harry pressed up against his back, one hand on his hip and the other tight around the pole above Louis’ head, caging him in. 

The bus sways a bit as they travel, bringing Louis’ bum into contact with Harry’s crotch practically every other second. Eventually, the hand on Louis’ hip slides to his stomach, presses him back against Harry completely. Louis’ hand squeezes tighter around the pole as he shifts just slightly, brushing purposefully against Harry’s crotch this time, grinning at the sharp intake of breath it draws from Harry. 

By the time the bus stops at their station, Harry’s fingertips are digging into the softest part of Louis’ belly, holding him still, most likely to keep him from grinding his hips back, like he so desperately wants to do. He can feel Harry’s chest moving against his back with each breath, the air puffing out of his mouth against the back of his head. It’s ridiculous, is what it is, and unfair that it’s so attractive. 

God, Louis wants him so badly. 

He follows Harry out of the station, down the street, toward and inside a respectable looking building. There’s a short elevator ride in which they stand entirely too close together, and finally, finally, Harry’s tugging him down the corridor to a plain white door, unlocking it and ushering Louis in, crowding him up against the door to close it as he shucks off his jacket. Louis works on his own but fumbles with it, the buttons too large and the sight of normally adorably clumsy Harry moving like some slinking jungle cat making him too out of sorts. 

Harry takes Louis’ hands in his, twines their fingers, and presses them to the door next to Louis’ head, leaning in. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, alright?” Harry asks, nudging his nose against Louis’.

“God, please,” Louis chokes out, trying to suck in a breath before he doesn’t have a chance, and Harry kisses him, leans down and presses their mouths together. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Louis feels his eyes slip shut out of reflex. 

It’s -- fuck, it’s so good, better than Louis imagined, even. Just the right amount of pressure, Harry’s mouth slotted against Louis’ own so they fit like puzzle pieces or something equally ridiculous and cliche. Louis slides his hands out from under Harry’s to tangle one in his hair, tugging hard enough to make Harry hiss against his mouth and press up against him, hard enough that Louis can feel his erection fattening up in his jeans. 

“Bed,” Louis pants, tearing his mouth away. “Bed, right now.” 

Harry nods and crouches slightly, and before Louis really even knows what’s happening, hoists Louis up to carry him into the bedroom. 

“Fuck, I had no idea you were a bloody caveman,” Louis says when Harry drops him on the bed. He takes off his jacket and reaches out, curling a hand in Harry’s waistband to pull him on top, kissing him again and again as he works on the buttons of Harry’s shirt. 

He peels it open to reveal Harry’s unfairly toned chest and an assortment of tattoos, including two swallows just below his collarbone. 

“Tell me about those later,” Louis says, pushing the shirt off Harry’s shoulders and moving his hands to the fly of his jeans, popping it open to get a hand around him. _Shit_ , Harry’s huge and hard under his palm, tip already leaking, making it easier for Louis to move his hand. Harry groans, leaning down to kiss him, hips thrusting up into the circle of Louis’ fist. 

Louis leans up to kiss him, mouth moving from Harry’s plush lips to the line of his jaw and down his neck, stopping at the base to suck a mark, moving his hand faster when Harry whines out a response. His own cock is nearly painful, trapped in his jeans, and he could cry with relief when Harry finally manages to get the buttons undone and get his hand down there. 

God, they’re not even fully undressed and Louis’ about six seconds from coming. This hasn’t happened since he was eighteen at least, and too much of a slag for his own good. 

“Fuck, fuck, Louis, I’m -- I can’t --” Harry pants out, voice lower than Louis’ ever heard it. He speeds his hand up, sliding his thumb over the slit on every other upstroke until Harry starts to shake apart above him, coming all over Louis’ hand and both their jeans with a broken noise. 

God. What a mess. 

Louis wipes his hand on Harry’s jeans as he slumps forward, moving up to pet his sweaty hair back from his head. 

“That was lovely, darling, thank you,” Louis murmurs, even though he’s still ridiculously hard and Harry’s hand is still wrapped around him loosely. 

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs back, leaning down to kiss him, his hand moving lazily over Louis’ dick. He gasps with it, whining a bit when the movement speeds up, but Harry’s kisses stay sloppy and slow. 

He comes a few seconds later, unexpectedly, his back arching off the bed with the force of it, whining into Harry’s mouth as he strokes him through it. 

“God,” he breathes as Harry flops down next to him. 

“Nah, just Harry,” he says, grinning like an absolute fool, and Louis doesn’t even have the energy to smack him for it. 

\---

The next day, he wakes to the soft press of Harry’s mouth, his warm skin sliding against his own, and a slick hand wrapped around both of them, stroking lazily. 

They make it to work, but only just. 

\---

“You absolute slag,” Louis says, well, squawks, really, at Zayn, who frowns at him in confusion. 

“You’ve got a _hickey_ ,” Louis says in his best imitation of an American accent which, granted, probably isn’t all that great. Whatever, Zayn’s walking around with a hulking love bite on his neck and Louis didn’t even get a courtesy text. 

Zayn brings his hand up to cover the mark, but Louis rolls his eyes. 

“No use in that now,” he says, tugging Zayn’s hand away to get a better look at it. It’s massive, much bigger than the one he gave Harry -- not that that makes Louis want to go find Harry and attach his lips to his neck until it’s bigger than Zayn’s, no, that’d be ridiculous -- and Louis is a little impressed. 

“And I thought you were the vampire,” Louis says with a snort, releasing Zayn and taking a step back. “It was really Liam all along, wasn’t it?” 

Zayn smirks. “Wait ‘til you see his neck.” 

Louis’ unable to feel anything except proud. 

\--

A few days pass, days filled with sneaking kisses and gropes in the abandoned parts of the zoo and spending lunchtimes pressed up next to Harry on the bench, eating much faster than usual and begging off to find a secret place to fool around. 

It’s nice; fun and easy and _hot_ , especially the way Harry seems up for anything. They almost get caught a few times, managing to slip out of sight of a passing tour group or scrambling to make themselves look presentable before the door gets opened. They’re probably not fooling anyone, honestly, but Louis’ pretty sure they can’t get fired. 

Well, mostly sure. 

A knock on the office door pulls Louis away from staring at his computer screen while mentally measuring the space under his desk. He wonders if Harry could fit under there, maybe hide and suck him off with no one the wiser. It’d be hot and it seems like the kind of thing that’s right up Harry’s alley. 

“Louis,” Paul says, and right, he’s supposed to be paying attention. 

Louis raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, yes, you need something?” 

“To talk to you, if you’ve got the time.” 

Officially, Louis’ supposed to be designing a flyer about their next event, but Zayn’s putting the final touches on it, so he doesn’t have much else to do. “Sure,” Louis says, pushing back his chair and making his way into Paul’s office. 

“Close the door and take a seat,” Paul says, nodding toward it without really looking at it, and Louis’ heart kicks up in his chest. 

_Oh shit,_ , he thinks, closing the door with a shaking hand, _someone saw me and Harry and complained. He knows we’re fucking, he knows we made out in the reptile room last week, he knows, he knows, he knows._

Louis swallows thickly and takes the seat in front of Paul’s desk, clasping his hands together and shoving them down between his thighs. 

“You’ve been doing really well here, Louis, don’t you think?” Paul asks him, folding his hands in front of himself on the desk. Louis nods quickly in reply. It’s not even a lie, either. He has been doing well here, and he knows it. 

“Good,” Paul says, “I’m glad you think so too. I just wanted to let you know that the feedback we had from the carnival was some of the best ever,” he continues, and the tightness in Louis’ chest eases just a tiny bit. 

“Really?” His voice comes out in a bit of a squeak, but he can’t be bothered. He’s not getting reamed for inappropriate conduct, so it’s a good day. 

“Oh yeah,” Paul says, “I’m still getting emails about it. They really loved the uh -- who’s the band you got? Carnivorous somethings?” 

“Clamoring Condors,” Louis finds himself saying, and immediately wishes he weren’t. “It was actually just Harry and Niall. The other band cancelled last minute, and they filled in.” 

“That’s good problem-solving, Louis,” Paul says seriously. “Really. That’s the kind of thing that’s invaluable in a position like yours.” 

God, no one’s ever called Louis invaluable. Or implied that anything about his personality could be beneficial. His face heats and he smiles. “Thanks.” 

“No, thank you. Dunno what I would’ve done without you here while I was laid up in bed all day,” Paul says, giving him a kind smile. There’s a moment of silence between them and Louis just sits there, smiling like an idiot at the grain of Paul’s desk. 

“Now, go on, back to work with you,” Paul says gruffly, making Louis sit up straight. “Don’t pay you for nothing, eh?” 

“Right,” Louis says, standing and fumbling for the doorknob. “I -- um -- thank you. Really.” 

“No problem,” Paul waves him off. “But Louis?” 

He stops, turns to look at Paul again. 

“You really ought to consider making this more long-term,” he says, and something unpleasant clenches in Louis’ stomach. “It suits you, and that can’t be said for many.” 

“Right,” Louis nods, smiling at him again. “I’ll give it some thought.” 

“I hope you do,” Paul says, and Louis turns away again, returning to his own desk. 

\---

The fact of the matter is this: Paul’s right. Louis is made for this sort of work. 

Louis knows how to be charming and friendly but still firm, and he doesn’t let anyone bullshit him. He won’t stand for incompetence, especially when it comes to something he’s responsible for that’s supposed to reflect the zoo’s image as a whole. 

But it’s a _zoo_. That’s the sort of the thing that Louis gets stuck on over and over. He never thought he’d find himself in a place like this, surrounded by lovely people who actually care what’s going on in his life and are genuinely helpful and considerate. He’s not used to being around people who do what they say they will and when they will, and as stressful as his job is, it’s a cakewalk compared to the frantic _go, go, go_ that was working in the theatre. 

He likes it here, despite all the animals and the smell, sometimes, and the fact that he regularly washes bird poop out of Harry’s hair in the shower after work. 

And fuck, Harry. _Harry_. 

Harry’s sweet, kind, and probably the best thing that’s ever happened to Louis, especially after a string of self-involved actors who cared more about their potential roles than things like being a good boyfriend to Louis. 

But still. Louis can’t help but wish maybe another theatre had at least called him back after sending out his CV. It’d be nice to know he wasn’t completely wrong about being able to succeed doing what he loves. 

He supposes the more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes that maybe he didn’t love it. 

Which is why, when he checks his voicemail on Monday to find a message from the head of HR at the Globe -- as in _Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre_ in _London_ \-- he doesn’t call them back straight away to set up an interview. He tells himself it’s because it’s Monday, the start of the week and a new project, so he just needs to get his bearings before calling them back to discuss it a little more. 

Except suddenly it’s Wednesday and Louis is knee deep in poster designs and the voicemail is burning a hole in the back of his mind. 

“What’s your dream job?” he asks Zayn, who’s crouched over a table beside him, drawing something. 

“What?” Zayn asks, straightening with a sickening popping sound coming from his back. Christ, they’ll both be stiff by the end of this. Maybe he’ll have to start doing yoga with Harry. 

Louis chews on his bottom lip. “Like, if you could have any job you want, what would it be?” 

“Head curator at the National Museum in London,” Zayn says automatically, shrugging his shoulders. Right. Louis supposes it wouldn’t get any better than that for someone like Zayn. Except maybe the Met in New York or something. 

“So if they called you up next week and asked you to interview, you’d call them back?” 

Zayn arches an eyebrow. “Depends,” he says, “I don’t think I’d want to be head curator right now.” 

That makes sense too. That’s one of those positions you’ve got to get the experience for. But Louis has no idea what the Globe wants him to do. He can’t really make an informed decision. 

“What about if they offered you any job?” Louis presses, “Or like, something that would eventually turn into the head position. Would you take it?” 

“Probably,” Zayn says with another shrug of his shoulders, like it’s that easy. 

“What about Liam?” 

“What about him?” Zayn gives him a weird look. “If we really wanted to make it work, we would. I’d just have to like, talk to him. A proper conversation.” 

“Right,” Louis says with a nod, and falls quiet, thinking. The touch of Zayn’s hand to his shoulder jolts him, and he looks up. 

“Why’re you asking all this, mate?” Zayn asks, voice soft, like he maybe already knows the answer. 

“The Globe called,” Louis says, sounding more miserable than anyone who’s just been contacted by their dream employer has any right to. “Want to set up an interview.” 

Zayn lets out a low whistle. “Shit,” he says, and Louis nods. 

“What are you gonna do?” Zayn asks after a pause, and Louis shrugs, feeling helpless. 

“I have no bloody idea. I guess I --” He lets out a sigh. “I guess I ought to talk to Harry. He gives good advice.” 

“Yeah, among other things,” Zayn smirks, and Louis swats at him. 

“Don’t be an arse,” he says, but Zayn just grins at him and crouches over the table again. 

Zayn’s right. He just needs to talk to Harry and get his head on straight. It’ll be fine. 

\---

The thing is, though, that Louis can’t imagine the conversation going well. 

He can’t bear to imagine seeing Harry’s face looking crushed when Louis tells him he might have to move, can’t bear to think of the alternative, where Harry just shrugs him off and tells him it doesn’t matter to him. It’s awful either way, and Louis’ not usually a coward, but the thought of getting in a fight with Harry, who’s nothing but wonderful, makes him feel a bit ill. 

Which is how it comes to be Friday, and Louis has neither called the Globe back nor spoken to Harry about it. 

Though, with how Harry’s got Louis pressed against the wall of the corridor, still tasting of the red wine they had at dinner, kissing him until he feels drugged and needy, Louis’ finding it hard to concentrate on any of that. 

Harry gets a hand around his waist, pulling him away from the wall and walking him down the corridor to his room, pushing their jackets off and leaving them on the floor, shoes and socks following and forming a trail toward the bedroom. 

They make it inside and Louis breaks away from him, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down his legs, leaving them pooled in the center of the room. He pulls his shirt off next, buttons no doubt flying off with the force of his tugs. He drops the shirt on the ground and watches as Harry slips out of his own clothes quickly, turns away when the sight of his hard dick curving up in between his legs proves too much for Louis to handle. 

“So many things I want to do to you,” Harry murmurs in his ear, pressing up from behind. Louis gasps, grinds up against the hard press of Harry’s dick. “You have no idea.” 

“So do them,” Louis says, breathless and grinding back against him again. Harry’s hand squeezes around his hip and then moves, ridding Louis of his pants quickly. 

“Get on the bed for me,” Harry breathes, “All fours.” Usually Louis might put up a fight, but he’s too worked up to do anything but comply. He shivers when he hears the snick of the lube bottle, and again when he feels a cool, slick finger press to his rim. 

“Yeah?” Harry murmurs, rubbing the digit over his hole, and Louis nods. 

“Please.” 

He groans as the finger presses in carefully, but not particularly gently. Louis doesn’t want gentle right now anyway. He wants the press of Harry’s fingers in his arse and then the stretch and burn of his cock, hard and unrelentless. Harry pushes another one in beside the first, pressing a kiss to Louis’ lower back. 

Louis curses as Harry keeps kissing, down over the swell of his bum and to his thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin there with his teeth. The next thing he feels is the soft, wet press of Harry’s tongue next to his fingers and Louis whines, high-pitched and needy, working his hips back to Harry’s mouth. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Haz, please, you’re so good,” Louis babbles, hands twisting into the pillow above his head as Harry pulls out his fingers to spread his cheeks with both hands. He licks at him, tongue warm and wet and sloppy and pressing insistently into him. Louis whines when Harry’s teeth graze his skin, arousal coiling tight in his belly. 

“Jesus fuck, Harry, Haz, I’m close, I’m --” He breaks off in a moan as Harry’s fingers slide in again, immediately finding his prostate and rubbing at it. Louis comes untouched all over the sheets with a loud moan, his shoulders shaking as Harry carefully withdraws his fingers. 

“Okay?” he asks, petting Louis’ hip with a sticky hand, nosing at his spine. Louis lets out a shaky laugh. 

“Brilliant,” he croaks, flipping over on his back and tugging Harry up for a kiss. 

“Your turn.” His hand snakes down Harry’s torso to wrap around him, working him just how he likes. 

“You’re already so hard for me,” Louis murmurs, his free hand coming up to tangle in Harry’s curls, making him shudder. “Always so hard for me. Just from my arse, huh?” 

“Lou, please,” Harry chokes out, and Louis takes pity on him and moves his hand a little faster until Harry presses his face into Louis’ neck, breathing out a sob as he comes. 

“That was lovely,” Louis says, smiling at Harry, pressing a kiss to his temple. The exhaustion of the week hits him like a freight train, always does on Friday nights, so he maneuvers around, arranging their bodies on the bed so they’re spooning and no one’s in the wet spot. 

It’s gross, but they can clean up in the morning.

\---

Louis wakes before Harry does, which is odd, because it’s not like Louis was the one who woke Harry up at four in the morning, hard and ready to go again. No, it was definitely Harry who had done that, and also Harry who had worked Louis open with his fingers until he was trembling and fucked him with long, slow, _deep_ thrusts that made Louis’ orgasm hit him out of nowhere and his body curl forward with the force of it. 

It’s not like Harry had been the one completely wrecked by the end of it, but Louis supposes he’ll give him a lie-in, just this once. 

He hops in the shower, turns it up to just shy of scalding and steps in, letting the water pound his muscles and loosen them up. He goes through his routine -- shampoo and rinse, conditioner, body wash, a conditioner rinse, and a face wash, sometimes taking the time for more personal grooming, if he feels the need -- and steps out feeling refreshed. Which is good, since that’s what a shower’s supposed to do. 

He dries his hair, brushes his teeth and pulls on a clean pair of pants, stepping out into his room to find Harry awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, sheet wrapped around his middle. 

“Morning, love,” he says, smiling, but when Harry looks up at him, face carefully blank, Louis feels the smile fall off his face. 

“I answered your phone on accident,” Harry says, without preamble, holding it out to him. “Jennifer from the Globe Theatre says she’d really like it if you’d call her back.” 

Oh. _Fuck_. 

Louis swallows and reaches out, taking the phone from Harry’s hand. It’s a bit of a joke, how they both have the same ringtone for unknown callers. It doesn’t seem so funny now. 

“It’s Saturday morning,” Louis says, for lack of anything better. “Why are they calling on a Saturday?” 

“Guess it doesn’t matter at places like the Globe,” Harry says, voice low and clearly very, very angry. Shit. 

“Harry, look --” Louis starts, but Harry cuts him off with a shake of his head. 

“Are you leaving?” His face is tense, screwed up with impeding sadness and anger, and fuck. _Fuck._. Louis should’ve talked to him before now, before this. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “This was only ever supposed to be temporary.” 

Harry chokes out a laugh that sounds painful. “You didn’t tell anyone?” He sounds so fucking hurt, like Louis’ betrayed him, and God, no, he’s right, Louis is the biggest aresehole on the planet right now. He can’t even bring himself to explain it all. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

“You just let us all think -- fuck.” Harry gets up, pulls on his shirt so quickly that it lands a bit crooked and Louis has to fight the urge to straighten it out. He gathers his other clothing, throwing it on as haphazardly as the shirt. He’s moving in jerky motions, so different from his normal clumsiness or the bizarre sort of grace he gets during sex. 

Louis can tell he’s angry, and he knows it’s his fault. Of course by trying not to fuck it up he fucked it all up. Of course. 

“Haz,” he says, but Harry shakes his head, pulling on his coat.

“No, whatever Louis. Just talk to me when you’ve figured out whether or not this is just _temporary_.” The door slams behind him, the sound echoing through the flat. 

Louis sits on his bed, still warm from Harry’s body, puts his head in his hands and breathes deeply. He doesn’t cry, but it’s a near thing.

\---

As luck would fucking have it, Paul’s on actual vacation for the whole next week and has left Louis in charge, obviously. There are no events, just general managing of the office and things that other departments may need, but it’s still enough to keep Louis busy. 

Of course, when he’s not busy, and ends up sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen, that’s when he can’t stop thinking about the look on Harry’s face as he’d stormed out of Louis’ flat. He avoids the picnic table, tells himself it’s because he’s too busy to eat anywhere except in his office, alone, but it sounds weak in his own head. He’s sure if he had to use it on one of the boys, they’d see through him in a second. 

Zayn knocks on his door on Wednesday during lunch, lets himself in and sits down in the chair in front of Louis’ desk, pulling out his lunch and a fork. 

“Usually people are invited to dine in someone’s office,” Louis says, but there’s not any bite to it, not even any cheerful teasing. 

“Good thing I don’t give a shit,” Zayn answers, and starts in on his lunch. 

They eat in silence for awhile, and it’s not exactly tense, but Louis wouldn’t call it comfortable, either. It’s slightly awkward, but Zayn seems unperturbed by it, so if he is, then Louis is too. 

Yeah, no, like hell he is. 

“The Globe called me again,” Louis says into the silence. Zayn stops eating to look at him. “Harry answered. I was in the shower.” 

“And you hadn’t told him yet,” Zayn says, and Louis can’t even fucking look at him as he nods. 

“I couldn’t even explain,” he says, his head falling into his hands. It’s easier this way; he doesn’t have to stare at Zayn’s judgmental face. “It caught me off guard. I kept saying the wrong things.” 

“Like what?” Zayn asks, his voice gentler than Louis expects. 

“Like how this job was only ever supposed to be temporary.”

“Oh.” 

_Yeah_. Louis doesn’t say anything, just takes a few deep breaths before lifting his head. Zayn’s not giving him a judgmental face -- it’s more pitying than anything else, which might be worse. 

“I’m such a fuck-up,” he groans, and Zayn chuckles. 

“You and the rest of the world, mate,” he says. “Look, Louis, people make mistakes, yeah? You made one. Just, apologize. Like, figure your shit out, apologize, and make up with him.” 

Louis sighs. “When you say it like that, it sounds so easy.” 

“Hey,” Zayn says, leaning forward. “It’s not. I’m not saying it is. I’m saying that’s what you’ll need to do, yeah?” 

Louis nods, running a hand back through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.” 

Zayn smiles and leans back, picking up his food again. “I’m always right, mate. Always.” 

\---

Paul comes back the next Monday and Louis corners him before he can go to any of his meetings. 

“Look,” Louis says, his ‘no-bullshit-please’ voice on, ready to fight. “We need to discuss my future here.” 

Paul raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair. “I’m listening,” he says, nodding to the chair. 

“I got a call from the Globe,” he says, sitting heavily in the chair. “Like, the _Globe_. In London.” 

“Yeah,” Paul says, watching him carefully. “You call them back?” 

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “To say I wasn’t interested.” 

Paul blinks at him, silent for a moment, and leans forward, the creak of his chair seeming extra loud in the tense quiet of the room. Louis winces, but only a little. 

“Louis,” Paul says, frowning at him. “That’s your dream job.” 

Louis lifts a shoulder. “Some things are better left as dreams, I think,” he says. “But it means that this might be a little less temporary than originally planned.” 

Paul lets out a breath, pauses, and then laughs. “Fuck, Louis, you’re more than qualified for my job.” 

“Your job,” Louis repeats, frowning. “But you have your job.” 

Paul shrugs. “Wanted to retire for awhile.” 

Louis makes a face, “You’re not old enough to retire.” 

“Well, then I’m leaving to pursue other interests. I suppose I don’t have to leave,” Paul says, raising both his eyebrows. Right, no, right, Louis wants him to leave. Well, maybe not like, tomorrow, but. Eventually. That’s the goal. 

“No, no, by all means, follow your dreams,” Louis says, grinning, and Paul rolls his eyes. 

“Shut it, you little shit.” 

“That’s wildly inappropriate. I can have you fired.” 

“Louis, do you want my job or not?” 

“Yes,” Louis says automatically, barely even surprised at how sure he is of it. “I really, really do.”

Paul looks at him for a long moment and then shrugs. “Then it’s yours.” Louis lets out a breath of relief.

\---

Louis decides to tell Harry first, for the obvious reasons. 

He makes sure Paul won’t leak the news before he gets a chance to tell and makes his way out to the picnic table for lunch. Harry’s the only one there, and he looks like he’s been waiting. Right. Okay. Louis can do this. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Louis asks, relieved when Harry nods quickly. He motions for Harry to follow and leads him back to his office, vacated since Paul’s gone to lunch. 

“Look, Hazza --” Louis says as soon as the door’s closed, but Harry takes a step forward, puts his hands on Louis’ shoulders and effectively shuts him up. 

“Let me, please,” he says, and Louis nods, breathes a little easier when Harry takes a step back. 

“I’m so sorry. For -- for how I acted,” he says, running a hand through his curls. “I just -- it was a shock, and I was overwhelmed. If you -- if it’s what you really want, you should go for it.” The way Harry’s looking at him -- determined but heartbroken, presumably at the thought of letting Louis go -- makes Louis’ chest ache in the sweetest way. How did he ever think he could leave this boy? _His_ boy. 

“I’m not leaving,” he says, and Harry blinks, frowns, looking generally confused. Louis takes a hesitant step toward him, a hand outstretched.

“I’m taking over Paul’s job,” he says, clarifying, and “I’m staying.” 

“You’re staying,” Harry says, and it’s not a question, even though his voice is cautious, tentatively seeking confirmation. It’s not a question. It’s probably never even been a fucking question.

“I’m staying,” Louis says, laughing as Harry rushes forward to press their mouths together. They kiss for a long moment, slow and deep, making up for lost time. 

“I like you a lot,” Harry breathes when they pull apart. Louis’ face feels like it’s about to split with how widely he’s smiling. “Not because you’re staying. I mean, it helps, definitely. But I just wanted you to know.” 

“I still kind of hate birds,” Louis says, “But you’re not so bad yourself.” 

Harry’s answering laugh is bright and loud. As long as Louis can keep him laughing like that -- _happily_ , Louis thinks inanely -- he thinks they’ll be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to talk to me about it on my [tumblr](http://jessimond.tumblr.com)!! thanks for reading <3


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